Tristan looked quickly to Tyranny, to find that she already had her spyglass to one eye. As she trained it across the western horizon, the blood drained from her face. Saying nothing, she looked over at him and handed him the glass. Tristan put it to his eye and took a quick breath.

What looked to be a line of at least one hundred pirate vessels were tacking back and forth in the wind, quickly converging on their position.

Fearing the worst, Tristan quickly turned astern and raised the glass again. A seemingly equal number of vessels were running before the wind, plowing their way toward them in a battle line from the east.

The pirates' strategy was immediately apparent. The two battle lines planned to meet, trapping The People's Revenge in a manmade vise of wood and sailcloth from which there would be no escape.

Tristan knew that all they had now was the superior speed of Tyranny's ship, for the two groups of raiders clearly had the angle on them. But how much speed could she muster, loaded down like this? The best The People's Revenge could do was to try to slip through the gap at the northern ends of their lines before it closed. If they could, the open sea lay beyond.

But as Tristan gauged the distances involved and checked the direction of the wind, his heart fell. He was sure Tyranny would give it her best, but he knew they would never make it.

Tyranny gave the expected order, and the frigate immediately heeled over to the north, to begin tacking into the wind. Tristan finally lowered the glass to see that Tyranny's face wore the same sense of defeat that his must.

There would be no way to avoid being captured. And once they were, there would be no clever trick to save them this time, and no wizards to help them avoid their doom.

They were all alone, and they were about to die.

CHAPTER

Fifty

W alking gingerly down the hall with his daughter at his side, Wigg cursed both his weakness and the fact that he had been unable to sleep the previous night. Horrific dreams had disturbed him over and over again, causing him to cry out and awaken to find his body covered with sweat, his mind overcome with guilt and terror.

Celeste had stayed by his side the entire night, to calm and reassure him whenever he awakened. He was still weak this morning, but he had insisted on getting out of bed and going to visit his friends. He very much wanted to see Abbey, Faegan, and Shailiha with his own eyes, for only then would he be able to breathe easier about what had happened to them in the courtyard yesterday.

After the unexpected blast had shaken the palace, the Minions had come to his quarters to inform him and Celeste of what had just happened. It had been a massive explosion, but the warriors had finally been able to extinguish the numerous grass fires that had sprung up. Luckily, the palace remained unharmed.

Abbey, Faegan, and Shailiha had survived, but they had been badly shaken. After being carefully examined by the gnome wives, they had been ordered straight to bed. As expected, Faegan had argued, but Shawna the Short had finally prevailed by scowling and shaking one of her pudgy fingers at him. In the end, he had simply been too tired to fight her.

Once he had felt well enough to rise, Wigg had asked that the three others also be awakened, so that he might immediately speak to them. He had not wished to disturb their rest, but he was concerned that what had just transpired could seriously impact their search for both the prince and the Scrolls of the Ancients. Time was precious, and the sooner they met, the better.

After hearing about what had happened in the courtyard, he now suspected that what he had just gone through in the Chambers of Penitence may have been some form of immensely elaborate ruse-one designed to supply him and Faegan with exactly the wrong kinds of herbs-those meant to kill them the moment they were employed. Was the watchwoman of the floating gardens somehow in league with Krassus? he asked himself as he shuffled along the polished marble hallways. And if she was, how could they have possibly known that he and Faegan would visit her? There were surely easier, far more certain ways to kill them than that.

None of it made any sense, but he was determined to get his answers. Finally finding himself before the proper door, Wigg knocked once, then let himself and Celeste into the vast library known as the Archives of the Redoubt.

Faegan, Abbey, and Shailiha were already at the mahogany meeting table around a large pot of tea and a silver plate of pastries. The master wizard and the herbmistress were talking in urgent, worried tones. Shailiha was listening to them intently, Morganna held close in her arms. Upon seeing Wigg and Celeste, the baby made a soft gurgling sound.

After Wigg and Celeste took their seats, the lead wizard cleared his throat. Abbey and Faegan finally stopped talking. Looking from them to Shailiha, Wigg realized that they were indeed lucky to be alive. Their faces and hands were decidedly reddened, and parts of their hair and eyebrows had been singed. Abbey looked the worst of the three. Reaching out, Wigg took her hand. She smiled and grasped it gingerly. Her skin felt good in his palm, and he smiled back at her.

"Is everyone all right?" Wigg asked softly.

Abbey looked over at Faegan, then back at the lead wizard. "I think so," she answered. "But it was very close. We have some burns, but Faegan has already enacted a spell of accelerated healing over them. He has also aided our hearing, which was temporarily impaired by the blast. In another day or so, we should be far better. But what about you?"

Placing his gnarled hands flat upon the tabletop, Wigg took a deep breath. "Let's just say that what I went through in the Chambers of Penitence is not something I would ever care to repeat," he said, employing his usual sense of wry understatement. "I should soon be better, as well. But tell me, how did this happen? Was it because of the goods we brought back?" As he looked at Faegan, his face darkened. "Did the watchwoman try to kill us by intentionally supplying us with the wrong items? Was everything I went through for naught?"

"No, I don't think so," Faegan answered almost perfunctorily. "It will, of course, be impossible to know for sure until we again try to use the oils and herbs. But I believe what happened was a result of something we did ourselves, rather than our having been betrayed by the watchwoman."

"How so?" Celeste asked.

"We were actively seeking Tristan," Faegan answered. "And it was the blood of his twin sister that we were employing to do so. Something physical of the subject to be viewed is always required-or at least something as close to the subject as the practitioner can find." Sitting back in his chair, he thought to himself for a moment.

"As I understand it from Abbey, under normal conditions this would never result in the catastrophic results we experienced in the courtyard," he went on. "Since we had nothing personal of the prince's body, we thought a drop of Shailiha's blood might do the trick. But remember, Tristan's blood is now azure-changed in ways that we have yet to fathom. It could simply be that his blood is not compatible with Abbey's gifts, and the process of trying to find him resulted in the flame's destruction. We may never know for sure. In any event, I certainly don't recommend that we use the exact same method to view him again."

Abbey narrowed her eyes with thought. "Actually, there is some mention of such a phenomenon in the ancient teachings of the partials," she said. "I had forgotten about it until hearing what you just said. It makes no mention of Tristan, exactly. But what happened is starting to sound more and more like what my teacher once warned me to be on the lookout for, so many years ago." She paused, and it was clear to everyone that she was trying hard to retrieve the details from her dusty, three-hundred-year-old memories.